


The Tide is Turning

by incandescent_marmoset



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescent_marmoset/pseuds/incandescent_marmoset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery needs a favour from Sansa, but it’s something she almost certainly doesn’t deserve. With everything to lose and dragons on the horizon, she finds herself questioning her loyalty to the throne. When the time comes, will Margaery be able to put the past behind her and change the face of Westeros forever?</p><p>It’s time to play the game of thrones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reawakening

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I'm not always sure how I feel about modern au's, but this one grew from GoT in that Sansa and Margaery were close up until Margaery (or her family at least) hurt Sansa. I wanted to write what it might be like if they were reunited - admittedly under slightly different circumstances. It's set in a modern world, but with Houses and Kings and probably dragons (although a more political slant is implied). I have a story arch planned, and I'm thinking it will run to about three chapters. I hope you enjoy :)

Margaery stood on the doorstep, hating herself.

What was she doing here? How had it come to this? Surely, _surely_ nothing could be worth this.

But then she remembered the look on her brother’s face. Swallowing hard, she reached out, and rang the bell.

Through the semi-transparent glass, she could just make out a willowy figure with blazing red hair.

The door opened.

‘You,’ stated the figure.

‘Hello Sansa,’ Margaery nodded, her gaze drawn instantly to the crystal depths of Sansa’s eyes. _Trust me_. _You can trust me_.

‘It’s so lovely to see you. May I come in?’

Sansa stood, frozen, blocking the doorway, her mouth slightly ajar.

But Margaery never gave up without a fight. With a bright smile, she edged her way in through the door.

‘Perhaps we could sit down?’

Nothing. It was getting tiresome. But then, suddenly, Margaery’s proximity seemed to awaken something in Sansa. Shaking her head as if returning from a trance, she gestured through to the room along the hall.

Margaery led the way, taking a seat at the far end of a battered leather sofa

‘D-drink?’

It was a croak, a whisper, Margaery barely heard it, heard only the word she knew was trying to escape, because Sansa was nothing if not polite.

‘Yes please, a glass of water would be lovely.’

 _Lovely_ again. Gods, this was going to be harder even than she’d imagined.

Sansa set the glass down and Margaery took a long drink. For a moment, there was silence.

‘Wha-’

‘So-’

‘You first.’

‘No, you please. I insist upon it.’ Margaery always got what she wanted, always had to have the last word. She could almost hear Sansa thinking it.

‘Just tell me what you want,’ said Sansa.

‘I am sorry, Sansa,’ said Margaery, dodging the question in the first instance, and shifting slightly to touch Sansa’s arm, then flinching when Sansa pulled away at once, her skin cold as ice. ‘I had to come,’ she said. ‘You know why.’

‘I wish you hadn’t.’

Margaery winced again. Sansa was right. She shouldn’t have come. It was still all too fresh. Her presence here was just making everything worse. Sansa would never listen to what she had to say, why should she?

‘Tell me what you want.’

Margaery paused. ‘I’m here to ask you something – a favour,’ she said, ‘and before you say it, I know I don’t have the right, but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t... important.’ She breathed in slowly, trying to read Sansa, trying to work out if the girl had any idea what she was talking about.

‘If I tell you I haven’t said anything, will you leave?’

‘You haven’t said anything?’ Margaery repeated slowly, emphatically, wanting to make absolutely sure.

‘About Loras. About what I saw.’ She tilted her head to one side, ‘you do _know_ what I saw?’

Margaery nodded, looking away. She knew, in fact, in astonishing detail every act in the entire series of crushing events that had conspired, that evening, to bring down her entire family.

Loras had sobbed out the whole sorry story on her bathroom floor, in between vomiting.

It was pathetic really, or at least it would have been, if it was someone else’s brother. Not that she blamed him. If she’d been married to Cersei Lannister, she was sure she’d have been just as desperate for a distraction herself. Perhaps not desperate enough to jump on Renly Baratheon, but hey, each to their own

Not that it had been just a fling. It was _love,_ apparently _._ As if _that_ somehow made it alright.

‘You haven’t said anything... And you won’t say anything?’ Margaery dared to hope.

Sansa stared back, her expression infuriatingly blank.

‘I knew you’d come,’ she said in the end. ‘Jeyne said you wouldn’t dare, but I knew that you would. Never have there been any so daring as Margaery Tyrell.’

‘Jeyne...?’

‘A... friend.’

Margaery nodded. They all had need of... friends.

‘It’s been a long time since you needed anything from me.’

‘I know. And I hate coming to you like this. But he’s my brother.’

‘And Rob was my brother. And he died because of what your familydid.’

‘I –’ Margaery bit back the fire, ‘I know... I know. But Sansa, that was a long time ago –’

‘You’re the one digging up the past!’

‘Sansa,’ Margaery took a deep breath, ‘the last thing I want – the last thing I have _ever_ wanted – is to see you hurt.’

‘And yet here you are.’ Sansa stood up and went over to the window.

Margaery watched her. A hundred years ago, she would have gone over, put a hand on her shoulder, and told her it was ok to be angry.

And it probably wouldn’t have worked then either.

She got up.

‘Yes. Here I am. Look at me, Sansa, please.’

‘How can I look at you? Your family waited until mine had been destroyed, and jumped straight into bed with our enemies. You left us. You left me.’

Margaery gritted her teeth, wondering just how many more times she would have to take this. But when she opened her mouth to cite a well-practiced defence, Sansa brushed her aside.

‘Speaking of which, how’s married life treating you?’

‘I – It isn’t. I mean we haven’t. Yet,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ Sansa’s lips twisted. ‘When’s the happy day?’

She seemed vindictive, Margaery thought, sure that Sansa hadn’t been vindictive before. Hurt, yes, and sad, and angry too, but there had been no malice in her. Something was different.

‘This summer,’ she sighed. ‘His twentieth name day.’ She did so hate being reminded.

‘You must be thrilled – Queen Margaery at last. And the people will adore you, I’m sure.’

Margaery pushed her hair back from her face. She couldn’t afford the stress, she really couldn’t. She was already too many years older than her intended. ‘Ah – Sansa. You know I loved you. I loved your whole family – and I know it’s hard, but truly, what happened _wasn’t my fault._ I didn’t know anything – my family knew how close I was with you, you think they told me anything? I’m not here to apologise _again._ ’

‘Hardly surprising. Why change the habit of a lifetime?’

There it was again. So bitter. How could she still be so bitter?’

Margaery turned away. ‘Look, clearly I’m wasting both of our time here,’ she said. ‘I should never have come. I’m sorry. I just wanted my brother to be safe – I thought you’d understand that at least.’

‘How many times do I need to tell you – I want nothing to do with it – _any_ of it. With you, or your brother, or any of it. Don’t you think my family has suffered enough?’

Again, Margaery winced. She hadn’t expected the argument to feel so fresh. It was as if the last five years hadn’t happened.

She turned. ‘Sansa, I never wanted to leave you. You must know that?’

‘All I know is that you walked out. You didn’t want to be associated with us – with any of us! – that much was clear!’

Margaery glared. ‘You know that wasn’t the reason!’

‘Oh? What then?’

‘You _blamed_ me for it! Maybe not in words, but in your face, in the way you looked at me every day. Have you any idea how hard you made it?’

‘ _I_ made it hard?’

There was fire there now. Fire that hadn’t been there before either. And by Gods she was beautiful. Still, after all this time, and all this hurt, Margaery couldn’t deny that Sansa was beautiful. She looked longingly at the door. It had seemed so close just five seconds ago. Now it was a million miles away, and further still.

‘Just tell me... tell me that my brother’s safe. Tell me, and I’ll go.’

‘Or what?’

‘What?’

‘Say it. Go on, I want you to say it.’

Margaery looked at Sansa. Some people – most people – she found so easy to read, but Sansa, Sansa who was glaring at her with something akin to contempt, had always been something of a closed book. The pretty ones always were, Margaery sighed.

‘Sansa...’ she began.

‘Threaten me. Go on – it’s what your family would want. The next logical step I’m sure. You’ll reveal our relationship. Tell everyone what I am – “if our family goes down I’m bringing you with me.” Drive in the knife a little deeper. House Stark’s final shame. You _know_ the drill, and I know that you’re only here because your family sent you. And we both know that they would want you to do _whatever_ it takes to shut me up. So, why stop there?’ she shrugged. ‘If you want to be certain, you’ll have to kill me.’

Margaery gaped, a hundred defences swimming around inside her head. She stepped to within inches of Sansa’s face, her lips twisting into a trademark Margaery smile,

‘You infuriate me,’ she said simply.

And then she kissed Sansa like nothing had changed.


	2. Just business

Margaery sat up straight on her barstool. After all, even when drinking oneself into oblivion, there were standards to be maintained.

She pressed the glass to her forehead, willing the ice inside to ward off the hangover she knew was biding its time, lying in wait for the moment her eyes opened the following morning.

Things had gone... badly, she reflected. Even by the minimal standards she herself had set.

Sleeping with Sansa had been a mistake, for one, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time.

That had always been half of the problem with Sansa. For months Margaery had been on the very edge of leaving, and then Sansa given her that _look,_ and Margaery had put if off for another night. But then, when she’d woken up, Sansa had hated her again, and Margaery had just been so _lonely_. Bitterly, tragically, crazily lonely.

Not that the sour turn to their relationship had been Sansa’s fault. But then, Margaery reasoned, had it really been her own either? – yes she had known that her grandmother had been planning something big, and in hindsight, perhaps she had been foolish not to try to find out more at the time. Olenna Tyrell was not to be underestimated. The Queen of Thorns, Margaery’s grandmother, her tutor, her best friend, and the woman who had ruined her life. Margaery may have inherited Lady Olenna’s ambition for their family, but it seemed that she still had a lot to learn about her ruthless streak.

She’d certainly never foreseen the death of King Robert, quickly followed by the fall of his closest ally: Sansa’s father. The Lannisters framed Lord Eddard for treason and imprisoned him in the Red Keep. The North rebelled, of course, led by Robb Stark, Sansa’s elder brother. But in the end, he’d been killed. An assassin at a wedding: a dirty trick. It had Lannister fingerprints all over it.

And that had been the end of that. Robb was dead and Lord Eddard exiled to the wall.

Enter the Tyrells, centre stage.

Robert’s widow, Cersei, had been wed to Margaery’s brother, Loras, and Margaery herself betrothed to Joffrey, the young king.

Margaery found it difficult to identify the exact moment when she had given up trying to make things ok again with Sansa. It had been clear from the start that things would never, could never be ok again. And yet, for better or for worse, Margaery had loved Sansa. She had wanted her even if it meant that she would have to disappoint her family and give up her inheritance. Even if it meant that she would never be queen. (And Margaery Tyrell did _so_ want to be queen). Because, when times had been good, in the early days when they had met at college, Sansa had made her _feel_ like a queen, and that seemed to be all that mattered.

But Sansa had somebody else now. She had whispered it as they’d lain in bed together, afterwards. _By the way..._ And Margaery had smiled and nodded and died a little bit inside. Of course Sansa had moved on, and Margaery had been stupid ever to think it might be otherwise.

Margaery bit her lip. She could feel a tear welling up in the corner of her eye, and she refused to be that person: the person who cried and drank alone in a bar on a Friday night. On any night.

Gods she was lonely. But didn’t she have to be grateful that at least it was no longer because the person who was supposed to love her didn’t?

No. If anything, Joffrey, her dear, sweet, murderous intended, loved her a little bit too much.

Not that it mattered, she told herself, because in a few short weeks she would be queen. Queen of all the seven kingdoms. Queen Margaery Tyrell, first of her name. And then things would be different. She would have a million people to love her, and maybe some children too, and she would never know loneliness again.

Margaery shook her head, wondering a little at the lies she told herself to make her time bearable.

‘Margaery Tyrell?’

_Shit._

Lost in her thoughts, Margaery hadn’t even noticed the pretty blond slide into the seat next to hers.

‘I’m afraid so,’ she said, turning to offer a smile that usually would have dazzled, but this evening probably just made her look tired.

‘Can I get you a drink? – you want another –?’ The girl gestured to Margaery’s empty glass, but Margaery just shook her head.

‘I’ll just have water, actually.’

‘Your call,’ said the girl, nodding their orders to the barman.

 When their drinks arrived, she slid the dollars over the counter and held up her glass. ‘To your upcoming nuptials?’

Margaery grimaced.

It was entirely involuntary, and she regretted it the instant she realised what her features were doing, but by then it was too late.

Luckily, the girl only laughed. ‘Can’t say I blame you.’

‘No?’ Margaery’s eyebrow arched dangerously.

‘Forgive me, I only meant that... I just never thought you looked quite right together.’

‘What – you don’t think I’m pretty?’ Margaery pouted, hiding a smirk, because it had been a long day, and she was feeling shitty, and if she needed a little pick-me-up in compliment form, then who was the world to deny her?

‘No – not at all,’ the girl smiled, not at all embarrassed. ‘You’re every bit as beautiful in the flesh as you are in the papers. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re blatantly as gay as... well, me.’

For a second, Margaery thought she must have misheard. But no – she had both seen the words at they formed on the blond girl’s lips, and heard them as they fell from her perfectly-formed mouth. Quickly, she glanced around the bar to check that no one else was listening in, then, satisfied that they were not, she turned her attention back to the girl at her side.

‘You’re mistaken,’ she said. ‘You must forgive me,... this – what you’re seeing here, it isn’t... it isn’t me. I’ve taken the night off.’

‘I understand,’ said the girl. ‘We all need those now and again.’

Margaery frowned. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, realising for the first time since their meeting that the answer might be of consequence.

‘My name is Daenerys... Targaryen,’ said the girl, quietly.

Margaery’s eyes grew wide.

‘But aren’t you supposed to be –?’

‘Dead?’ Daenerys smiled. ‘And yet,’ she said, gesturing to her own quite obvious presence.

‘And yet,’ Margaery acknowledged.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Daenerys. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. But Margaery –’ she continued before Margaery could make any further protest, ‘has it ever occurred to you that you might not need a king to be queen?’

‘What do you mean?’ Margaery really wasn’t feeling up to this kind of conversation. She was having trouble getting a read on this girl who claimed to be the last living dragon, and what was worse – she wasn’t entirely sure it was just the drink that was the problem.

‘Well,’ Daenerys shrugged, ‘you must know how the people adore you. And it’s obvious why,’ she said, reaching forward and tucking a loose curl back behind Maragery’s ear.

Suddenly, Margaery’s position on her stool seemed frighteningly precarious. She held on tight to the edge of the bar, and concentrated on staring straight ahead.

Because Margaery Tyrell had, if she was honest, always been something of a player. She loved to chase, and most of all, she loved to allow others to _think_ that they were chasing her. But here there was no pretence. This girl who called herself Daenerys Targaryen was all over her.

And the sheer sense of release was mind-blowing.

Then it struck her, like a needle penetrating in through the fug between her ears – when she – Margaery – set the chase in motion, it was inevitably because she wanted something. Now, that want could be pure and simple, or it could be something decidedly more... complicated.

Margaery looked at Daenerys hard, and to her disappointment, she could tell in this case that this girl didn’t want her. She wanted something _from_ her.

She pulled away, hurt, trying and failing not to let it show.

To her credit, Daenerys seemed to sense immediately what was wrong. She reached out and took Margaery’s hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry – you’re right. This, what’s happening here, it’s just... just business really. And I am sorry to have caught you off guard like this. But the truth is, I really want to talk to you, and I have done for a long time. Seeing you here – it was too good an opportunity to miss. But I can see that you’re dealing with something, and I probably shouldn’t have bothered you. I – I just want you to know that it doesn’t have to happen like this,’ she looked at Margaery meaningfully. ‘There’s another way.’

‘Wha–?’ Margaery put her head in her hand, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Think about it, Margaery – think about what you really want. Because there may yet come a chance to take it,’ Daenerys whispered, getting up from her stool.

‘And I’m sorry that you’re hurting,’ she added, reaching out a hand to touch the trace of a tear on Margaery’s cheek. ‘But these things have a way of turning out for the best, you’ll see.’

‘Be careful, Lady Margaery, and may we see each other again.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is definitely going to run longer than three chapters - sorry, I have a talent for underestimating the length of my work! And don't worry, there is more Sansa to come too.


	3. Hazy at best

The next morning, as anticipated, Margaery woke up feeling like death, but to her surprise, she found that, underneath the pain, for the first time in a long time, there was something more, something she hadn’t experienced in a long while... Hope perhaps? A sense that the world could be different, better, that she might not be inextricably tied to the path laid down by a hundred Tyrells before her.

And yet her memory of the night before was hazy at best.

She crawled into the bathroom and downed what might have been a litre of water, the pain receding a little as the ice-cold liquid flooded the inner recesses of her brain. Leaning against the sink, she lifted her head, looking at the reflection before her, and couldn’t help but smile.

Not her best. Not quite her worst, but definitely not her best. Her hair was plastered to one side of her face, and sticking up on the other in an interesting array of peaks and tufts. Her mascara had sunk to somewhere just above her chin, and her lips were dry and chapped.

But she did have nice eyes. Light blue, quizzical, almond-shaped eyes. Even if they were red and a little puffy.

Margaery gritted her teeth. _It could be worse._

The top came off first, over her head, revealing an angry bruise at the top of her arm. _What had_? – ahh yes, the toilet door, she had stumbled straight into the lock. _But why_? – Oh, mm, that would explain the other marks on her chest too, definitely not bruises. Then the pants, shimmying down over her thighs, and the smudged remains of a phone number rounding off at her buttock.

_Classy,_ she thought.

And then she felt something from her pocket digging into the back of her knee.

Reaching in, she pulled out a white card which looked like an advert for a pub. _The Dragon Knight._

Margaery gasped. She turned the paper over. On the back, a phone number had been written neatly in green ink.

_Daenerys!_

Had she and Daenerys...? No, she didn’t think so. No, in fact she distinctly remembered how disappointed she’d been when Daenerys had left.

She should have gone home herself, but she hadn’t. Craving affection, and desperate to avoid the insistent pull of real life in every ring of her phone, she had gone on to... to somewhere she shouldn’t have, and done things she wasn’t proud of with someone she should never have met. She hoped they hadn’t recognised her. She hadn’t exactly looked like herself, she reasoned. But then Daenerys had found her. But then Daenerys had been looking.

Suddenly, she took a step back. _Her phone!_

Gods, it had rung and rung...

Margaery kicked off her jeans and ran (stumbled) back into her bedroom, hunting desperately for her bag.

Dredging it up from the gap between the bed and bedside table, she emptied it onto the cover, and pulled her phone out of the heap.

_Blank._ Nothing. Its battery was dead. Forcing herself to breathe normally, she plugged it in, and waited the obligatory two minutes before turning it on.

The missed calls buzzed in one by one. Eighteen in total. Margaery gulped, scanning the list.

The one from Joffrey she quickly ignored. Ten from her brother – only to be expected. Two from his lover, Renly, whose help had obviously been enlisted when Margaery had proven herself unreachable – she’d fallen for that one before. Four from her parents. And one from Lady Olenna.

Gods she really was in trouble. You didn’t ignore a call from the Queen of Thorns, even if she was your grandmother. The others could wait. Margaery went straight to speed dial.

‘How did it go?’ Straight to the point. Lady Olenna didn’t care for niceties.

‘I – it was fine.’

‘Fine?’

‘Yes, I mean she’s not going to say anything.’

‘Right. Good. So why didn’t you call last night?’

‘I...’ Margaery choked, unable to stop herself.

A moment’s silence on the other end. ‘Oh, sweet girl...,’ Lady Olenna’s voice softened, ‘It’s hard. I know it’s hard, but you are so strong – a worthy head of this family if ever there was one. And in less than a fortnight, you will be queen. Think only of that my child. The rest will come.’

Margaery swallowed hard, nodded into her phone and hung up.

Suddenly the phone came alive again in her hand, and Margaery almost flung it across the room.

It was a number she didn’t recognise.

‘Hello?’

‘Can you meet me on the Pier?’ The voice was quiet, female. ‘King’s Landing, the cafe on the end. 12.30.’

‘Who is this?’ Margaery asked, though she suspected she knew very well.

Silence. ‘I got tired of waiting. Did you forget?’

‘...No.’

‘It’s just that you were in a bit of a state last night...’

‘I’m fine,’ Margaery frowned. ‘I’ll be there.’

She looked at the time. It was 11.30. She ran back into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, I know, but it sort of came to a natural end, and I'm aiming to get another one out a bit sooner.


	4. In such company as this

Margaery slewed onto the closest pavement she could find at 12.34. _Not bad,_ she congratulated herself. A twenty minute journey on top of a mere forty-five minutes spent making herself look... if not quite fabulous, then pretty damn good.

If it hadn’t been for the traffic lights, she could almost have been on time.

Pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes, she nipped her shirt in round her waist, swung her bag over one shoulder, and strode off towards the Pier.

She did like being this close to the sea. Granted, King’s Landing had none of the soft rolling hills or lush orchards of her childhood home, but as she trod the wooden boardwalk of the Pier on her way to the cafe at the end, Margaery reflected that the course saltiness of the breeze, and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore had a certain beauty all of their own.

She spotted them instantly, painfully out of place in such an informal setting. Daenerys, every bit as stunning as Margaery remembered, sat with her back to the sea view, and the sun bouncing off her wavy white-blond hair. Beside her was a tall, middle-aged  man that Margaery didn’t recognise, and opposite him, another man that she did.

There was no mistaking Tyrion Lannister. He turned to leer at her as she closed the door, refusing to allow the horror she felt inside to so much as register in her face.

But it was a new day, and Margaery was no longer the girl drowning her sorrows in a bar on the wrong side of town. The strategist within kicked into gear almost immediately.

And so, beaming as if she was meeting three of her oldest friends, she hurried over to join them at the table.

After all, she said to herself, if Tyrion was here, then he was asking for just as much trouble as she was.

‘...Margaery,’ Daenerys’s greeted her uncertainly, as she pulled out a chair and seated herself next to her soon-to-be uncle.

‘Thank you so much for inviting me,’ she gushed, pulling a menu towards her, ‘I’m going to order a drink, can I get anything for anyone?’ She glanced around the table. Both Daenerys and her companion were doing a poor job of masking their surprise. Only Tyrion appeared amused.

‘Always such a pleasure it is, my sweet niece,’ he smiled, laying a hand on top of hers.

Margaery’s lips quirked briefly up to one side, before she sauntered over to the counter to fetch herself a lemonade. Very deliberately, she refused to look over her shoulder, allowing herself only a hint of a smile as she caught snippets of the whispered conversation biting back and forth in her absence.

‘Ahh,’ she said, returning to the trio and taking a long drink, ‘that’s better. Now, has anyone ordered food yet?’

‘That’s enough,’ said the man who had yet to be introduced, flattening his palm over the menu.

Margaery frowned, raising her eyes to his. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘have I perhaps offended you in some way?’

‘You are in the presence of –!’ he began, before Daenerys put a restraining hand on his arm.

‘– of course you haven’t, Lady Margaery, please forgive me – forgive us. This is my hand, Ser Jorah Mormont, and of course you know Lord Tyrion.’

‘Yes, I’ve had that particular pleasure,’ said Margaery, resting her jaw in one hand. ‘And I suppose you know that not only are two of the people at this table the closest relatives of your greatest enemy, but the other is known to have conspired with your would-be assassins.’

Daenerys glanced at Jorah. ‘...Yes. In fact we have chosen to move past that particular... unfortunate association.’

Margaery nodded somewhat sceptically. ‘So, if you don’t mind?’ she said, levering the menu out from under Ser Jorah’s hand, and taking it with her back up to the counter.

‘Do not take me for a fool, _Khaleesi,_ ’ she said as, moments later, Daenerys appeared at her side. ‘I may have been... out of sorts, last night, but I do not appreciate being played.’

‘I am sorry, again – really,’ said Daenerys. ‘I thought perhaps if you knew that Tyrion was on board... but he warned me it could be a bad idea – the last thing I want is to push you away.’

Margaery nodded tightly, and pushed her sunglasses back onto her head. ‘I’m just not sure you appreciate how dangerous this is,’ she whispered, ‘– for any of us! If we were to be caught...’

‘I know – believe me, I know. And I understand. And I do appreciate you meeting me like this – there is so much we have to discuss –’

‘Ready to order?’ the waitress cut in.

‘Why, er, yes. I do believe I am,’ Margaery smiled brightly. ‘I’d like the big house breakfast please.’

‘Good choice – may I ask how you like your eggs?’

‘Over easy please – and if you could manage a little crisp around the edges, that would be just perfect.’

‘I’ll see what I can do! Er, I...’

_Here it comes,_ thought Margaery.

‘I, um, I’m so sorry, but I feel like I recognise you – are you by any chance Marg–’

‘Margaery Tyrell, absolutely yes, and it’s such a pleasure to meet you...’ Margaery glanced at the name badge, ‘Sarah.’

The waitress – a young girl, barely out of her teens with a dark blemish on one cheek – smiled, blushing a deep crimson. ‘Do you suppose... I mean would it be too much of an imposition...?’

‘An autograph? Certainly, here...’ Smiling brightly, Margaery reached out and turned the girl’s notepad round to face her.

‘Actually, I was wondering if perhaps... a picture –?’

In the moment’s pause, the waitress was already opening her mouth to take back the suggestion, but by this point Margaery was several streets ahead, and gaining. ‘Of course, of course,’ she said beaming before Daenerys could so much as open her mouth to protest, ‘– but oh... the thing is, you see, it’s so naughty, but actually we are here to plan a surprise for my fiancé – you know my uncle over there, the king’s hand?’ she gestured across to the table, ‘– but, the thing is, no one must know that we were here – it would be such a terrible shame for Joff to find out...’

‘Oh – well, no matter, my lady,’ said the waitress, albeit with a somewhat crestfallen expression.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Margaery, how about I make it up to you? We’re having a small get together tomorrow night after the award show in Hangman Square – you know the plateau just outside the Red Keep? If you give me your name, I’d be happy to put you on the guest list – and perhaps you’d like to bring a friend?’

‘My lady!’ said the waitress, looking as if every birthday and Christmas had come at once, ‘– that would... that would be amazing! Thank you!’

Margaery stayed with her at the counter, painstakingly writing down her name and contact details. Only when she had finished, did she spare a glance for Daenerys.

The girl was watching her, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar. She shook her head under Maragery’s gaze. ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘come with me back to the table. I _need_ you.’

Nodding slowly, Margaery followed.

‘Lady Margaery,’ Ser Jorah began, ‘I believe we may have got off on the wrong foot – I hope you will allow me to apologise.’

Margaery smiled, wondering how exactly he was repeating the words Tyrion had told him to say.

‘Please Ser Jorah,’ she said kindly, ‘I wouldn’t want you to think on it for another second.’

‘Very well then,’ said Daenerys. ‘There are things we must discuss. Firstly – Tyrion?’

‘Lady Margaery, I am sure it is clear to you from my presence here that I am, and have been now for some time, a mole, a spy, a cat amongst the pigeons if you will,’ he said, opening his palms and smiling broadly.

‘Indeed. How long?’ said Margaery.

‘Long enough.’

‘Ah –’ he continued at Daenerys’s prompt, ‘that is, hmm, around about these past six months.’

Margaery nodded, counting back to the date when Tyrion’s father and sister had conspired to murder his latest whore. _Yes,_ she reflected, that would be about right.

Not that she blamed him. No, if anything, Tyrion was a pigeon amongst cats – not that he was stupid, no, far from it in fact, but he was... a good man. Yes, that was about right. Margaery had picked up on it from the time of their introduction. It was clear enough from the way that Joffrey had loathed him.

‘I had left the city,’ Tyrion continued, ‘said my goodbyes. I’d had enough of its abhorrent head and twisting limbs. I was to Bravos and away. That was when I ran into –’ he nodded in the direction of Jorah, who confirmed it with a tilt of his head.

‘I have flown in the pocket of dragons ever since.’

Margaery nodded. She could well believe it. There was something... compelling about the Targaryen girl. Something more meaningful than her obvious beauty and deeper than her evident wit.

It was as simple as kindness, perhaps; a sense of honour. These long-forgotten traits of the kings of old. Yes, Margaery could well see her seated on the legendary throne that ruled their kingdoms.

‘Margaery,’ said Daenerys, leaning forward, ‘we are strong, but our foothold this side of the Narrow Sea is weak. Will you help us?’

Margaery hesitated. ‘My family is... invested,’ she said, glossing over a million small sins, and others, larger ones, ones that she didn’t want this girl to know anything about, even if Tyrion’s presence at the table indicated that she probably already did.

Daenyerys shrugged. ‘Nothing that can’t be broken.

Margaery had to acknowledge the truth of this. Even she doubted that the match Cersei had made with Loras had ever been consummated.

‘Even so, my grandmother is the head of our family, not I,’ she said.

‘Yes, but you are her right hand. She will listen to you.’

‘I would not bother her with... trivia.’

‘We have Dorne.’

‘Just Dorne?’

‘In Westeros. To the east we have an army of Dothraki and Unsullied. And sell-swords. The Second Sons and the Golden Company ride under our banner.’

Margaery nodded. So the rumours were true. ‘They will not be welcome here,’ she warned.

‘No,’ said Daenerys. ‘That’s where you come in.’

Margaery nodded. ‘You want the support of Highgarden?’

Daenerys exchanged a look with Ser Jorah.

‘Not just Highgarden.’

Silence for a moment, then Tyrion stepped up.

‘They think you can bring them the love of the small folk,’ he said. ‘And also the swords of the Baratheons... and of the Starks.’

Just then, they were interrupted by a wave of large, heaped plates arriving at their table.

‘What did you-?’ Jorah directed a confused look at Daenerys.

‘Not me,’ Daenerys shook her head, smiling. ‘Her.’

Margaery could only bask in the glow of unspoken praise as more food continued to arrive. By the end, there was enough to feed a small army.

‘I hope the food here is to your taste, ma’am,’ said Sarah, the waitress, giving a curtsey.

‘Second only to the service, I’m sure,’ Margaery smiled indulgently.

‘You see?’ Daenerys justified herself to Jorah once the waitress had excused herself.‘We _need_ her. The people are willing to accept _Joffrey_ for her. That’s the kind of magic I could use.’

‘Are you really hungry?’ she said, turning to Margaery, who was picking up her fork, ‘After last night?’

She sounded incredulous, but also just a tiny bit impressed, and as Margaery nodded, she allowed herself a tiny genuine smile, ‘Actually I’m ravenous. But even so, I worry that you expect too much of me.’

‘Look, all we need is someone on the inside –’

Tyrion coughed.

‘Someone _popular._ Someone who could win people to our cause.’

‘I –’

‘You were engaged to Renly.’

‘Yes,’ Margaery acknowledged, thinking of Loras, ‘the Baratheons might be... tempted, but –’

‘The Starks are important, Margaery,’ Daenerys spoke in earnest. ‘Even now people feel that they were wronged. The North is vast. That anger could be useful to us.’

‘Hm,’ said Tyrion. ‘If only there was someone on the inside. Someone with whom one of us had shared a close personal relationship, someone who could be trusted... someone in whose interest it would be to see the Lannisters _burn_...,’ he smiled devilishly. ‘Well, I seem to be stumped. Can you think of anyone Lady Margaery?’

Margaery looked away. So it had come to this.

_Sansa._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I'm already looking forwards to writing the next chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one :)


	5. Dances with wolves

‘Do you want me to –?’

‘No,’ said Margaery because she knew that this was something she had to do herself. Taking a deep breath, she reached forward, and rang the bell.

Back again. So soon. And to a place so recently the scene of her humiliation, her rejection. She supposed that at least this time she had some company. Daeneyrs was there, breathing softly beside her. They hadn’t seen each other since that time in the cafe on the pier, almost a week ago now, and Margaery had been too nervous to say much more than a cursory hello since meeting just minutes ago on the corner of the street.

It was unlike Margaery to be nervous. Dabbling in politics was day-to-day, and so were pretty girls. But there was something about a combination of the two. Mixing work with pleasure. It was a mistake.

The door opened suddenly.

Margaery took a step back. The girl inside was unfamiliar, but as was so often proving to be the case, Margaery was not.

‘You!’ the girl scoffed. ‘I’m surprised you have the nerve.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Margaery, unfazed, ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Margaery, and this is my friend, Daenerys.’ She began to extend her hand, but in the face of the girl’s icy stare, quickly thought better of it. ‘I don’t suppose Sansa’s at home?’

The girl – Jeyne, Margaery could only assume – closed her eyes. ‘It’s for you,’ she shouted back into the silent apartment, not breaking eye contact with Margaery.

A brief pause, and then dainty feet pattering towards them along the corridor.

Sansa’s expression clouded over the moment she saw Margaery.

‘Sansa –’ Margaery smiled, but Jeyne cut her off.

‘We can tell her to leave if you like.’

‘No. No – it’s ok. Come in.’

‘May we sit?’ An abrupt sense of Déjà vu. But this time, with two extra players. Was that better or worse? Margaery wondered.

Jeyne snorted, moving across to stand by the window, but Sansa settled in the armchair, gesturing for Margaery and her companion to take a seat on the sofa.

‘Sansa,’ Margaery said gently, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not going to go through the rigmarole of apologising to you for coming here this time –’

‘This time? What do you mean _this time_?’ Jeyne cut in immediately, setting Margaery’s teeth on edge. ‘Sansa? What does she mean?’

But Sansa was busy doing her best impression of a deer caught in the headlights.

 _Oh Gods,_ thought Margaery, cursing herself for referring to the previous visit.

‘I had to come before, Jeyne,’ she said, trying to placate the other girl. ‘I’m sure Sansa’s told you – about my brother. And I’m sure, given –’ she nodded between the two of them, ‘that you understand.’

Jeyne huffed angrily.

‘And I’m sure Sansa just didn’t mention it because she didn’t want to upset you –’

‘Don’t speak for me!’ Sansa hissed, suddenly coming back to life.

‘ _I_ didn’t want to upset you, then, either of you. I didn’t want anyone to know I was here. This is _my_ fault.’

Both Sansa and Jeyne both appeared to be on the cusp of biting Margaery’s head off, but then Daenerys stepped in.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘the truth is that Margaery’s only here because of me. I can see that there’s a lot of... history, here – and perhaps there are conversations that need to be had, but now is not the time. We are here to discuss more important things. Things that will affect us all.’

Margaery was impressed. In the week that had passed, she had forgotten just how commanding a presence Daenerys possessed.

Not that Margaery hadn’t thought about the dragon queen. In fact, she’d thought of little else.

Glancing sideways, Margaery took in her profile. She was gorgeous. Undeniably so. Pale blue eyes, and white-blond hair. So little, so demure... and yet so completely in control, that for once in her life, Margaery was happy just to be a passenger.

 _Could she really have said she was gay?_ Margaery wondered. That time when they met at the bar? – something had happened, certainly, to make Margaery think she was coming on to her. But then she remembered the disappointment too, when she had realised that the Targaryen girl didn’t want her. And now, now all she felt was shame, shame at the realisation of just how easily she could have had her.

Blinking, Margaery shook herself. Daenerys was nodding for her to continue.

‘This is Daenerys Targaryen – yes, _the_ Daenerys Targaryen,’ she added, before either of the others could interrupt. ‘The iron throne is her birthright, and she is within touching distance of the power she needs to win it back. As it stands, her main support base is in Essos. She has Dorne, and I believe I can win her Highgarden. But Sansa – the North...’

Sansa was staring, open-mouthed. ‘How can you...?’ she glanced from Margaery to Daenerys and back again, ‘How can you possibly imagine that I hold that kind of sway? The North isn’t mine to give – it isn’t even my family’s anymore.’

‘Hm,’ Jeyne stepped in. ‘And who do we have to thank for that. Oh yes...’ she said, looking pointedly at Margaery.

‘And you –,’ Sansa continued, ignoring her, ‘you’re so tight with the Lannisters you’re _literally_ in bed with them. Why are you doing this?’

‘Well, you know _their_ lot,’ said Jeyne, ‘stabbing people in the back’s what they do best.’

Gritting her teeth, Margaery turned to address Sansa alone. ‘You know, Sansa, you know better than anyone that Joffrey should never be king. If I was queen I – I don’t know, maybe I could manage him, but the people deserve _more_ than that. They deserve _better_ than him. And now we... well, we have the chance to stop it. It’s – it’s the right thing, Sansa. I know I haven’t always done the right thing. But I feel it, now.’

‘But Margaery – you remember what they did to my father, to my brother – just _think_ what they’ll do to you if they ever find out _._ And Cersei – she’s been suspicious of you right from the start –’

‘Well... actually, Cersei’s not been so much of a problem lately,’ Margaery said quietly, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

‘You didn’t –?’

‘I –’

‘Ha! I can’t believe you!’ Jeyne spoke up again, arms folded. ‘You fucking slut!’

‘How could you?’ said Sansa, full of hurt. ‘Of all the evil, two-faced bitch–!’

‘It’s not like I’m not _proud_ of it! I thought it would – I don’t know, give me a bit of leverage. She was drunk, and desperate, and –’

‘You were you,’ Sansa sighed, looking at Margaery, beautiful, hurtful, dangerous Margaery.

‘Yes.’ Margaery flared up. ‘I _was_ me. I _am_ me. It’s a hard habit to break, I’m afraid, and I’m done apologising for it. Because – do you know what? – sometimes I get lonely too.’

‘Aww,’ Jeyne cooed sarcastically, ‘poor lonely Lady Margaery. What a good thing you had money, power, looks, and apparently Ser Jaime’s favourite whore to fall back on.’

Margaery shrugged. Actually, if she was more honest than she ever intended to be, than she’d even been in her life, she would have to confess that sleeping with Cersei had been... somewhat liberating.

The woman had been insatiable. Even at the point of passing out, she’d begged for more. Of course the scratches she’d left on Margaery’s back and bite marks on other... varyingly intimate parts of her anatomy had meant she’d had to avoid the son for a week or so – like that was any bad thing – but the point was, it had been worth it. One great night and she never had to look Cersei in the eye again. It was win-win. Not that this was something she could expect Sansa to understand.

‘Honestly Jeyne, stop flirting,’ Margaery teased, back in the present, her lips quirking up into that oh-so-familiar smile, ‘You’re girlfriend’s only over there.’

‘Ok ok,’ Daenerys got to her feet, stepping between them, before anyone could really lose their temper, ‘You know, this could actually be something we could use to our advantage.’

‘Ooh, I know,’ said Jeyne, ‘get her to offer free fucks to anyone in Kings Landing, and sneak your armies in round the back while everyone’s distracted.’

‘ _No,_ ’ said Daenerys, putting up her other hand as Margaery got to her feet, ‘I meant that – nobody’s close to the queen. Nobody except her brother, that is. Your relationship with her could prove useful.’

‘It wasn’t – it isn’t – a relationship –’ Margaery protested, daring to look at Daenerys properly for the first time since her admission. Her expression was surprisingly hard to gauge. Suffice to say it was a million miles from either Sansa’s hurt or Jeyne’s disgust.

‘Even so,’ said Sansa, who once she had got gotten over the shock, seemed willing to accept any wrongdoing on Margaery’s part as little more than par for the course, ‘if they find out, they will kill you. Eventually.’

Margaery shrugged. ‘Who could know that better than I? And yet I consider it a risk worth taking. Doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know?’

‘Even if it means you’ll never be queen?’

‘Oh Sansa,’ Margaery shook her head, ‘that was never the most important thing.’

Jeyne looked on incredulously, as for the first time since the visitors had sat down, Sansa appeared to be listening.

‘You aren’t buying this bullshit, are you? – This is what she does – you’ve told me! This is what she always does. Her family hitches its wagon to whatever horse seems to be taking the lead – that’s all this is. She’s a gold-digger. Her whole family’s the same – you’ve said it yourself. They exploit people – use them until they’ve nothing left to give, then throw them to one side like they’re nothing!’

‘Don’t listen to her, Sansa,’ Margaery countered. ‘You’ve never been nothing to me. Sometimes I loved you and sometimes I hated you, but you were never nothing. And I know you have every reason not to trust me,’ she continued quickly before Jeyne could interrupt, ‘but think – think what we could do for this country, for the people!’

‘Sansa, even, _even_ if this is true, whose word do we have that _she,_ ’ Jeyne gestured derisively towards Daenerys, ‘would be any improvement whatsoever? The Lady Margaery? She said it herself – why should you trust her?’

‘Just think, think back to before the Mad King,’ said Margaery, immediately regretting her choice of phrase as Daenerys flinched noticeably beside her, ‘to a time when the Targaryens stood for peace, for prosperity. _That’s_ what Daenerys means to bring to us.’

‘I – I...,’ Sansa hesitated, caught between the two, unsure which way to turn.

‘It’s true,’ said Daenerys. ‘I have no desire to cause any more bloodshed than is absolutely necessary. But I will take Westeros, and rebuild it, and when I do, I’d like very much to offer your family the chance to take back what once was yours.’

‘I...,’ Sansa shook her head, ‘I don’t know if... I’m not sure that’s even possible anymore. Or that I want it... I – I’m sorry.’

‘It’s ok. I understand.’

But Margaery didn’t. She stared, opened-mouthed. ‘You’re saying no? Sansa – after everything? What happened to you?’

‘That’s enough!’ said Jeyne. ‘You’ve had your answer. I’d like you to leave now. ’

‘Well I’m not here for you,’ Margaery spat, ‘I’m here for Sansa.’

Suddenly Jeyne was in her face. ‘Get out! I told you to leave – we don’t want you here.’

But Margaery wasn’t ready to be herded out. ‘Sansa,’ she pleaded, ‘Sansa please, you must listen!’

That was when it happened, as if in slow motion. Jeyne drew back her hand and slapped Margaery full in the face.

Margaery reached up to touch the heat in her cheek and looked immediately to Sansa, searching for kindness, sympathy, a reaction of some sort. _Help me._

But Sansa was moving towards Jeyne, taking her arm, burying her face in her neck.

 _That used to be me,_ thought Margaery.

‘Come on,’ she said, turning to Daenery. ‘We should go.’

Nobody objected.

The instant the door was slammed behind her, Margaery collapsed back into it.

Daenerys was beside her immediately, soothing the sting of wet tears streaking against the heat of her cheek.

Margaerd sobbed, leaning into her.

‘Shhh,’ Daenerys whispered ‘– it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’m so sorry I asked this of you,’ she tucked a curl back behind Margaery’s ear, holding her close. ‘It’s all my fault.’

And the next thing Margaery knew, Daenerys was kissing her. It started as nothing more than an act of tenderness; of affection, kissing away the tears and the hurt. But soon it was more. Margaery found herself kissing back, strangely moved as she tasted the salt on Daenerys’s lips.

As she felt her body stop shaking, she looked up through wet lashes, and saw Daenerys, gazing straight into her eyes.

Suddenly, Margaery felt her phone buzz in her handbag. Looking away, she reached inside and clicked it on.

There was a message. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve she allowed herself a tiny smile as she held up the screen for Daenerys to see.

The line read simply:

_I’ll do it._

_S._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter - more to come soon :)


	6. The queens of Highgarden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a Daenerys PoV – couldn’t resist.  
> It's also the penultimate chapter. Probably. Enjoy! :)

‘There’s someone I’d like very much for you to meet.’

An innocuous little phrase, one that was running through Daeny’s head on a loop now that she stood with Margaery on the doorstep to her childhood home.

There was not much to see of Highgarden in the moonlight. Dark hedges rose up menacingly, casting odd shadows across the gravel of the drive. Casting odd shadows in the hollows of Margaery’s cheeks, making her cat-smile even more irregular than usual.

‘Usual.’ It was an odd word to use in description of Margaery, for Daeny had quickly come to see that there was little about the Tyrell girl that was usual. Not that it was easy to tell. No indeed, Daeny suspected that she had caught little more than glimpses of the many and varied aspects of the character that was Margaery Tyrell. At one time it would be pensive Margaery, then flirty Margaery, and then moving perhaps to challenging Margaery. Sometimes hurting and sometimes hurtful, but always brilliant and always beautiful, and all the more dangerous for it.

If she was honest though, Daeny thought she loved Margaery the most when she was broken – not because she liked to see her sad, but because she suspected that it was the only time when the barriers were down, and she got to see Margaery as she really was.

That had been why she kissed her when she did.

Daeny sighed, thinking back over the details of what had happened when they had gone to see Sansa, or specifically, what had happened _after_ they had gone to see Sansa. Even now, as she licked her lips, Daeny fancied she could taste the faintest trace of sweetness and honey and roses. Because, as it seemed to Daeny, everywhere she went, Margaery changed things. She spun gold. The world was a little greyer for her absence, and a thousand times brighter for her smile.

Which was why Daeny hadn’t been sure whether Sansa’s message, her tiny interruption, had been more of a relief or a disappointment.

It was brilliant news, of course, that Sansa was willing to speak with her father, to rally the forces in the north.

And yet... and yet, in that instant, if Daeny was entirely honest, she would have to confess that she would have happily traded a thousand northern armies for another few seconds of Margaery’s lips.

Such thoughts were dangerous. _Margaery_ was dangerous. For gods’ sake! This was what Margaery did for a living – she made people fall in love with her. Daeny knew. She knew the history. It was why she needed her. And yet, here she was, falling prey to the cat beneath the thorns. She simply couldn’t allow herself to wallow in these kinds of feelings. And yet, it had been a long time...

Sudden pressure on her palm made her head snap round. Margaery had squeezed her hand, was looking at her quizzically, was smiling.

And despite everything, Daeny found herself smiling back.

‘Don’t worry,’ Margaery whispered, ‘she’ll like you, she will. She can’t fail to.’

Daeny nodded, cursing herself for letting the nerves show through. Honestly! – she felt more like a girl meeting her partner’s parents for the first time, than a would-be queen on a political mission.

Not that Margaery was her partner! No, in fact neither of them had so much as mentioned what had happened. After Margaery had got Sansa’s message, it was as if she had forgotten the kiss entirely. They’d gone on to a restaurant, and Daeny had allowed herself to remain hopeful, but – _luckily!_ she warned herself – Margaery had only wanted to discuss strategy, and she could hardly argue with that.

She swallowed, trying to remember why they were doing this.

_It’s the best opportunity we’re ever likely to have,_ Margaery had insisted, _it isn’t long until the wedding_ (always _the_ wedding _,_ Daeny had noticed, never _my_ wedding). _We need to make our move. My parents are both going to be holed up in the capital city. And besides,_ she had smiled that Margaery smile, _– don’t you want to see the place where I grew up?_

It made sense, she knew it did. And Daeny was curious, not so much to become acquainted with the place, but with the woman who governed it.

The legend that was Olenna Tyrell, _the Queen of Thorns._

Margaery had given her what advice she could on the journey there.

_Don’t try to outthink her_ , she had said, _– believe me. It isn’t worth it._

Daeny could well believe it. No one person had had more influence on the shape of the new royal family than the Queen of Thorns.

The door was opened by a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform.

Margaery leapt forward and hugged her.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, releasing the woman, ‘Martha this is my friend, Daeny,’ (Daeny smiled, part in politeness, and part buzzing with delight at hearing the shortened version of her name on Margaery’s lips. There were few who dared use it.), ‘and Daeny, this is the woman who practically raised me.’

As the woman called Martha beamed with delight, and ushered them through a foyer grander than the like of any Daeny had ever seen, once again, Daeny found herself wondering if there was anyone left in the world who didn’t love Margaery Tyrell. Aside from Jeyne Poole, perhaps.

They moved forward into a reception room of some sort, where the lady of the house, delicately perched on the end of a luxurious green chaise-longue, rose to greet them.

‘Ah, Margaery,’ she said, unashamedly taking her granddaughter into her arms. ‘And...’ she turned her gaze on Daeny, ‘what’s this you’ve brought me?’

‘Grandmother, please allow me to introduce Daenerys Stormborn.’

But Olenna’s features had become stern. ‘You expect me to welcome a Targaryen into my household, on the eve of the marriage that would make you queen? Have your senses quite deserted you, child?’

To her credit, Margaery didn’t falter. She met Olenna’s steely gaze – and although they were not so similar in looks, Daeny could see immediately the one thousand other ways that they were one and the same.

When Margaery spoke again, her tone was sad. ‘You know they call us kingmakers?’ she said. ‘Our family, our legacy. That’s what we do – what we are known for: putting others on the throne. And you know what that means? That none are so much to blame as us for what’s to come.’

‘ _You_ are what’s to come. Because of this family, because of what we’ve done, what we’ve worked for, a fortnight from today, you will be queen.’

‘Joffrey will be king.’

‘And that is unfortunate, but it cannot be avoided. We were not to know what he would become.’

‘We knew his family though. We knew them. What they were and what they had done, and we stood by them nonetheless. No more.’

‘What are you saying?’ Olenna’s expression had changed from one of anger to one of interest. She moved aside and gestured for the girls to take a seat.

‘What I’m saying,’ said Margaery, ‘is that there is a price to the crown, of course, I understand that. But it is not one I am any longer willing to pay,’ she took a deep breath. ‘I do not wish to marry Joffrey. I have never wished to marry Joffrey. But now I have a reason. I have a plan, an alternative.’

Olenna was unconvinced. ‘It’s too late,’ she said. ‘The time of the dragons is dead,’

‘I don’t believe that is so,’ said Margaery. ‘Have there not been rumours from the east ever since we heard of the union between the last Targaryen and the Khal of the Great Grass Sea? The Targaryens are not forgotten.’

‘Nor are they ever likely to be, thanks to this one’s father,’ said Olenna, glancing over at Daenerys.

‘I am not my father’s daughter,’ Daeny spoke up. For if she was going to win over the people of this country, Margaery had told her, she must do everything in her power to make them forget her father and his madness.

‘I can see that,’ Olenna conceded. ‘But the truth is, child, your father was a monster, and the north is not the only part of this land that remembers. Joffrey has yet to be proven a monster. He is a private monster. And he has Margaery. What do you have?’

‘Across the Narrow Sea, I have the allegiance of the Dothraki, and the Second Sons, and the Golden Company, and in Westeros I have Dorne and the North.’

‘The North? – surely Lord Bolton –’

‘Not Lord Bolton, grandmother,’ Margaery cut in, ‘Lord Stark.’

‘My my,’ Olenna locked eyes with Margaery, ‘you have been busy.’

But Daeny hadn’t finished. ‘And...’

‘And?’

‘And I have Margaery.’

Maragery flushed prettily, but Olenna only snorted, and Daeny saw immediately that she was going to need something other than pretty words to win over the Queen of Thorns.

‘There is more,’ she said. ‘I have dragons.’

‘Dragons?’ Margaery whipped round to face her and even Olenna raised her eyebrows. Any mention of dragons always awakened people’s imaginations, not to mention their deepest fears. Valerion technology, of course, dormant now for perhaps a hundred years. But the legends remained. Legends of bombs that could be fired at distance, and with devastating accuracy.

They were a last resort, of course, to be used only if there was no other way.

‘I thought none were left,’ Margaery whispered.

‘There weren’t,’ said Daeny. ‘It was my brother’s idea to begin work to build more, but he... there were disagreements between him and my late husband. He was killed and I took over the programme. For some years now, I have had a small but dedicated team working on the project. We believe they are ready.’

‘But – I don’t understand,’ said Margaery. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner? – this makes us so much stronger – this is everything!’

‘It wouldn’t have helped us win the North. Sansa doesn’t want bombs. She wants safety, reassurance.’ Daeny sighed. ‘She wants _you_ , Margaery, in the same pathetic way we all do.’

Margaery’s eyes automatically swept the room for eavesdroppers, reminding Daeny of that time in the bar before when she’d brought up the topic of sexuality. This time only her grandmother was present, and from the look in her eye, Daeny heavily suspected it wasn’t anything she didn’t already know.’

‘For heaven’s sake, child,’ said Olenna, a kind smile hiding behind piercing eyes, ‘have I never taught you how to accept a compliment?’

Margaery blushed. ‘No, it’s just – thank you,’ she said, turning to Daenerys, eyes lowered.

‘I know it was hard on you, Margaery,’ said Olenna, ‘ – what happened before. What happened with Sansa. I knew you were close, and I misjudged the... depth of feeling on both parts. I made a grievous error, and I’m truly sorry.’

Margaery said nothing, but her cheeks burned, and Daeny felt suddenly like she was intruding on an intimate family moment. _It’s ok_ , Olenna seemed to be saying, _I know who you are, I know and I love you just the same._

And it was clear that, despite everything, Margaery adored her grandmother in return, and her acceptance meant a lot.

And right then, in that moment, Daeny knew that she could count on Olenna. Of course, it stood to reason that the old lady was reluctant to send her youngest, her favourite grandchild, into the heart of the lions’ den. But she was a pragmatic woman who wanted to push her family upward, and up until now, this had been the only way.  

_Up until now._

Daeny was offering her an alternative she couldn’t refuse.

From that moment, it was easy.

Many hours passed by. They came up with a plan. It was happening. Daeny could hardly bring herself to believe it. So many years, so much hard work. All leading to this, and finally, finally it was happening.

And to top it all off, as they walked out through the door, Margaery took her hand, and stopped her still. Daeny glanced sideways and saw that she was staring up at the stars.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m just trying to figure out how to say it.’

‘Say what?’

‘How beautiful I think you are, without sounding corny.’ She shrugged, ‘Guess I failed.’

‘Guess you did.’ Daeny smiled, and Margaery leaned in to kiss her.

It was a much better kiss than the one they had shared previously. Less clumsy, and less guilt-driven, but no less passionate. Margaery’s hands were in her hair, on her face, around her waist, pulling her in closer. _You’ve done this before,_ she thought, trying but failing to keep any thoughts of Sansa at bay. Sansa, who Margaery had loved.

‘Is something the matter?’ asked Margaery, apparently not oblivious to Daeny’s distraction.

‘Nothing – I’m sorry. It’s nothing important.’

‘It’s only you, you know,’ said Margaery, with such surprising powers of perception that Daeny laughed out loud.

‘What is it?’

‘You! – I feel I know so much of you, you should be incapable of surprising me, and yet...’

And Margaery smiled and took her hand again. Then she drove her home, dropped her off and kissed her goodbye.

Beautiful, quirky, feline, Margaery Tyrell. Margaery Tyrell, who should have been her enemy a thousand times over.

Daeny hadn’t stopped smiling since.

Then, in the early hours of the morning, just as she was getting ready to go to bed, there was a knock on the door of the hotel she had chosen to hole up that particular week. Her face lit up. _Could it be Margaery?_ Because a large part of her _had_ wanted to invite Margaery in, had known it was what the other girl wanted, but she had denied it her. Because there would be time for that. _After_.

But when she opened the door, there was nobody there, only a note fallen to the floor.

Daeny picked it up, and read,

_I’m lost._

_You must do it anyway, for me._

_Love, M._

And the smile died on her lips.


	7. A wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not, in fact the last chapter. But the next one (really really the last one) is going to be short and, hopefully, sweet.   
> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long. Life and stuff. Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)

Margaery paced the length of her room. A short while later, she paced back. It was the morning of her wedding, and the route had become well-worn.

By noon she would be married to King Joffrey, first of his name.

It seemed as good a day to die as any.

She stared into the mirror. From a distance, she was stunning. Her hair had been spun expertly in twists behind her head, pinned with blue flowers, so that it cascaded down over her shoulders in waves. Her dress was exquisite. The intricacy of the lacework, the delicate layering of textures. It was a work of art.

Close to though, Margaery felt somewhat lacking in her usual splendour.  

Loras had told her once before that she had the kind of features that looked best in motion. Somehow the light and the breeze were her friends, lending gloss to her hair and warmth to her smile. But here, in the murky stillness of the keep, she was stretched and worn, her face an open window to the tiredness she felt inside. Her smile was a smirk and her eyes knew too much.

All in all, a far cry from the girl who, just two short weeks ago, had kissed a dragon under the stars, thinking all the while that she might burst with happiness.

So naive.

Cersei had been her downfall in the end, of course.

Vicious, manipulative, spiteful Cersei.

Apparently, Margaery’s efforts at seducing the old queen had just made her out to be a different kind of enemy.

It had been foolish to think she had any sort of hold over her.

She must have known Margaery was up to something – conflicting schedules, missed appointments. The clues were all there. It all seemed so clumsy now. She was lucky, really, that the old bitch wasn’t smart enough to delve a little deeper and worm out the finer details.

Cersei had always thought Margaery was a whore. Had said it, in fact, to her face. And if anything, since then, Margaery had gone out of her way to prove it to her. It was only natural for Cersei to assume she was having an affair.

Cersei’s guards had picked Margaery up at her apartment, but not before she’d managed to get a message to Daeny. _Thank Gods._

_If only_ , Margaery cursed. If only _._ If only she had stayed over at Daeny’s that night and bought herself a little time. Someone would have warned her, she could have made a plan. Something. Anything. Anything but this.

But Daeny hadn’t offered, and Margaery hadn’t wanted to push her luck.

So she’d driven home alone, put her key into the lock, and then it was all over.

_Just like that._

Now she was confined to a tower, stretching high above the red keep, with King’s Landing pooling out beneath her, from the shadowy centre below, to the trickling suburbs in the far distance.  

She was going to miss so much. Daeny. She so wanted to be her queen. She hadn’t been asked, but Margaery sensed things were headed that way. _Had been_ headed that way, she corrected herself. But there were other things, too, that she would miss, of course. Her family – everything her grandmother had worked for, all of it would be buried under a hundred feet of rubble if things went to plan. No legacy for the Tyrells. Perhaps that’s what you got for reaching too far.

And her home. The lush grounds of Highgarden, her favourite place in the world, what would happen to it? Would the –

There was a knock on the door.

Margaery turned to the guard at her back.

He moved heavily, armour creaking with each step – Margaery had little faith in his ability to keep any would-be attackers at bay. But then, that wasn’t what he was there for. He was there to keep her inside, and at this, he was proving uncannily adept.

Margaery couldn’t see her visitor, but the voice was instantly recognisable.

‘Grandmother!’ she cried, pushing past the guard and throwing herself into the arms of the old lady. It was exactly the kind of uncharacteristic emotional display that she knew Olenna hated, but she hadn’t seen anyone apart from Joffrey and Cersei in the two miserable weeks of her imprisonment, and Olenna smelled of home.

‘Now, now child, what’s all this fuss?’ said the Queen of Thorns to the world at large. But then, leaning forward and stroking Margaery’s hair, she whispered, ‘Thank the gods. Thank the gods you’re alright.’

‘Perhaps I might be permitted a moment alone with my granddaughter on the morning of her wedding?’ Olenna said to the guard, who seemed to hesitate, before gesturing across to the balcony.

Margaery sat down and sighed.

‘Such sadness, child? This is supposed to be a happy day.’

‘Happy. Yes. Happy for whom exactly?’

‘For yourself, the bride. For the groom. For the families to be united. For the realm... And of course, for dragons.’

Margaery looked up sharply.

‘It’s going ahead then?’

‘I suppose it must. It seems a shame, though, to ruin a day such as this.’

‘It will be a new beginning. For the realm.’

‘Not for us,’ observed Olenna. ‘We will be buried in the ashes. The new order will build on our demise. Quite literally, in fact.’

‘Daenerys would never –’

‘She does not _wish_ to. But she will. She must, you see. You know that.’ Olenna touched Margaery’s cheek. ‘But fear not, my dear. There is a small light twinkling at the end of the tunnel.’

Margaery looked up.

‘Should anything... unfortunate happen to your intended prior to the proper signal, the affair will be permitted to continue without recourse to the dragons-bombs.’

Margaery frowned. ‘But surely – ?’

‘There is more than one way to win a war. Complete and utter destruction of the ruling class is one way, I grant you. But it is messy. Far better to cut off the head, and deal with the body while it is flailing. Wars are won in other ways. Fifty thousand Northmen wait in Highgarden, alongside our own armies, and those of Dorne to the south. They can be in Kings Landing by the morning. The king will die. The city will fall. One way or another.’

Margaery nodded uncertain. ‘That said, the king looks to be in remarkably good health...’

Olenna smiled, putting her hand over Margaery’s. ‘Looks can be deceiving, my dear. And who would know that better than us?’

Margaery frowned. ‘Even so, Joffrey is not the head he appears to be.’

Olenna shrugged. ‘Appearances are important. The king is dead. Long live the king. Or queen, as it may in fact turn out to be,’ she smiled, getting up to leave.

‘When – ?’ Margaery began to ask.

‘I look forwards with great anticipation to the toast,’ Olenna cut in. ‘But failing that, I suppose one can always count on the pie.’

She smiled at the guard on her way out.

_Right,_ thought Margaery, pondering on Olenna’s words. Joff’s drink. She would have to make sure he drank from his cup before cutting into the pie. If their luck held, if Olenna could make it so, the wine would kill him before the pie could signal the end for them all.

 

...

 

The ceremony was beautiful, even if the whole way through it, Margaery couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somewhere else, in the audience perhaps, in the stalls, watching from afar. Watching the beautiful young couple proclaim their love for one another.

But she did enjoy standing with the king on the balcony afterwards, bathed in sunshine and love. How the people cheered! Margaery had never heard anything like it.

She didn’t want them to die. She didn’t want to die.

Once the formalities were over, the feasting began. Everyone who was anyone in the city was attending. Lords and ladies, bishops and knights. Margaery’s family. Loras. Loras was there. He squeezed her hand, told her she was beautiful. She didn’t want him to die.

There were hundreds of Lannisters, too. Lots of lank blond hair. Tyrion was there. He smiled congenially at Margaery when he came over to congratulate the pair.

It didn’t take long for Joff to start goading him.

Margaery grimaced. She could almost accept his penchant for cruelty if he wasn’t always just so _unpleasant._

And the pageantry was off-the-chart poor taste. _Gods_ new where he had found a company of dwarfs to perform in this day and age, let alone re-enact the deaths of all the traitors to the throne. Looking over at Joff, laughing and slapping his thigh, she almost couldn’t wait for it to be over.

_Just end it. End it now._

Then it came – the moment she’d been waiting for. She very carefully did not look over at her grandmother as Joff raised the cup to his lips. He tipped it back, downed in one, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve as the rest of the guests did the same.

Margaery waited. _Nothing._ Now it was even harder to look at Olenna. And harder still to mask her own disappointment.

‘Look,’ she said, glancing to one side, ‘the pie!’

And it certainly was. The biggest pie she’d ever seen. A ridiculous monstrosity to parade in a city where only half of the inhabitants could properly afford to feed their children.

But the king cared little of such matters. Hoisting his sword back behind his head, he drove it down into the pie, and a hundred birds flew out. A hundred minus the ones speared on the point of it, at least.

As he stepped back, Margaery could see that his cheeks were red. He was having trouble breathing.

‘Bring me a drink!’ he ordered.

A servant rushed forward, but as soon as the fluid was in his mouth, he spat it back out. He was turning purple. His eyes bulged. Cersei ran forwards.

Margaery stood up. She looked to the sky. But it was too late. The first dragon fell just as the king dropped to his knees.


	8. A new dawn, a new dragon

Margaery opened her eyes. There was movement to her side.

‘Margaery? Margaery? Can you hear me?’

She blinked, unable really to see all that much, but when she tried to glance sideways, the tendons in her neck burned.

Then two large blue eyes appeared, somewhat fuzzily, in her line of vision.

‘Margaery?’

‘I...’ Margaery croaked. A cup of water was pressed swiftly into her hand, and someone behind helped her to lean forward.

The liquid was cold in her mouth. She felt the ice in her head as well as her throat. It was good. Already things felt clearer.  

Daeny squeezed her hand.

‘What... happened?’

‘I – we, that is – we have taken the city.’

‘Ah. A great victory. My congratulations.’

But Daeny didn’t look the part of queen. In fact she seemed small, suddenly like a little girl. Tired and frightened.

Margaery frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘Margaery, you have to understand. The scale of devastation was... unexpected. I was so relieved to find you. It was hours before we pulled you out of the rubble. I could hardly believe it.’

‘And the others?’ Margaery swallowed, but the new queen was hesitant.

‘My Grandmother?’

Daeny looked away. Finally, she gave a small shake of her head.

Margaery bit her lip hard as she felt hot tears well up in her eyes.

‘A-and Loras?’ she croaked.

‘Loras was burned,’ said Daeny gently, but the doctors think he’ll make it... He doesn’t look... quite the same, though.’

Margaery gulped. Poor, sweet, beautiful Loras. ‘We always joked that he was prettier than me,’ she said sadly.

‘You’ve looked better yourself,’ said Daeny, smiling softly, but Margaery didn’t care. What did it matter when everyone she’d known and loved was dead or dying.

Nearly everyone.

‘And you?’

‘I’m fine,’ Daeny smiled, ‘just relieved that you’re ok. You’re amazing, you know – a bit battered and bruised, but nothing broken. I couldn’t believe it when we found you,’ she said again.

‘And the king? What of my husband?’ she had to ask, had to know if it was all finally over. That, in one sense at least, it had been worth it.

Daeny nodded. ‘In fact Joffrey had already been poisoned – I expect your grandmother may have had something to do with it. He was dead when we found him.’

So...

_You could have waited._

It hung in the air between them.

‘I know you must think we should have waited –’ Daeny began.

‘No, no,’ Margaery shook her head. ‘You weren’t to know. It wasn’t your fault. We knew it was coming. And Olenna,’ Margaery’s gritted her teeth. Her eyes stung as she said the name, ‘she knew better than anyone what had to be done. She would have approved.’

‘But I thought I’d lost you,’ Daeny admitted, and Margaery looked up, noticing that her cheeks were wet. She paused, stroking back Margaery’s hair. ‘I thought I’d lost you. That I’d have to be queen alone and live with it forever. And it was only then that I realised that some things are more important. Some things...’

‘Mm?’

Daeny sniffed. ‘It’s just – I’m so sorry. For all of it. For your grandmother, and Loras, and your father...’

Margaery blanched. Her father – she hadn’t even asked.

‘He’s ok,’ Daeny added quickly. ‘His leg’s broken, but he’s ok. But Margaery, I’m so sorry – I wish to the gods I’d kept you with me, that night when you were taken. I wanted to so badly. I’ve wished it over and over. And if I had –’

‘If you had, then you wouldn’t be you,’ Margaery cut in, matter-of-factly, giving Daeny’s hand a squeeze back. ‘And that would be a shame, because... because you see, the thing is: I’m in love with you.’

‘You – what? You are?’

Margaery smiled, but stopped quickly when her skin cracked and it hurt. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘Yes. I am. Of course.’

Daeny smiled back, shy at first, but then she looked at Margaery properly and her eyes bloomed. ‘Margaery, will you stay with me and be my queen?’

‘Of course,’ Margaery smiled, her lips quirking up to one side, giving Daeny a flash of the girl who, in a former life, had danced and laughed and kissed in sunshine and in moonlight, all the while hoping that one day things might be better. ‘I was starting to think you were never going to ask.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end. We got there. It's quite fluffy, I know. I hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
